


Murder by Gaslight

by Gothabilly13



Category: From Hell, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Explicit Language, F/M, Het, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Murder, Serial Killers, Slash, Violence, X-Men Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothabilly13/pseuds/Gothabilly13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the fall of 1888, Something is stalking the streets of London. The gifted men of Sir Charles Xavier are needed to help find the evil. A tricky thief throws a wrench in the works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Steampunk X-Men. I was inspired by something Cee said and encouraged by Sarah, it's really not all my fault. I think this could be AWESOME, if I pull it off.   
> So here is a teaser to see if anyone else likes where I'm headed. Oh yeah and there are some cameos by Abberline and Godley of 'From Hell'  
> FYI: Steampunk is set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used—usually the 19th century, and often set in Victorian era England—but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of HG Wells and Jules Verne. In case you were unfamiliar with the term.
> 
> Feedback NEEDED.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men Fandom or Characters or From Hell Fandom or Characters. I make no money from writing these fictions.

August 1888, Whitechaple, London

The muffled screams went unheard as the dark deed was perpetrated. Slashing, cutting, the gush of blood. Unseen and unknown, a woman called Martha lost her life in a dark alley under the stairs. When the last breath was expelled, the shadow slipped away, unobserved.

The papers screamed of murder most foul the next morning, all of London was a buzz. Viciousness of this kind never seen before in the bulging metropolis. The police were baffled and rumors were spreading like wildfire.

On the outskirts of the city, in the walls of Xavier estate, Sir Charles Xavier the third, sat in his study. The newspaper lay on his desk. The evil story splashed across the front page. He rubbed his temple with one hand and sighed deeply.

The psychic backlash from the events unfolding, were giving him a headache. His ward and soon to be daughter-in-law, Jean, was feeling it as well. The poor girl was laid up in her room with a migraine from it.

There was knock at the door and a moment later his son, poked his head in the room. The morning sunlight glittered off his ruby lens goggles.

"Father, an Inspector Abberline is here from Scotland Yard. He wishes to speak with you." the young man said, stepping fully into the room. He was dressed in his riding clothes. High black boots, black trousers with sable waistcoat. He cocked his head and looked at his father.

"Yes, Thank you, Scott. I will see him in the sun room." Charles smiled thinly and nodded to his son. "How is Jean fairing?" he asked as he rolled his wheelchair from behind the desk. Scott moved to give him room. 

The chair was a creation of Charles' genius mechanic, an exotic man named Forge. It ran on steam power and could race along the halls at quite a clip. The young man was uncanny in his ability to make gadgets and machines that worked perfectly.

Charles turned the chair out the door and Scott fell in step behind him.

"She is still suffering. I don't know what else to do for her. Hank said to keep giving her the drafts he prescribed but they don't seem to make much difference." The young man sounded pained. Charles knew it troubled his son, to be unable to help his ailing fiancee. The emotion between the two had been tangible since they were 6 and 7 years old. When Lady jean Gray came to live with them.

Assuring his son that she would recover, they made their way into the sun room. The porter showed the inspector in. 

He was a striking fellow, Charles noticed. Black hair, only slightly unkempt. Dark eyes that seemed to dominate his handsome face. He was a bit thin and pale. The psychic picked up the tang of opium in the man's energy and his heart fell. The Inspector may be brilliant but he was shackled by his addiction. 

"Good mornin', Sir, I'm sorry to bother you so early but I was told you might be able to 'elp me wif some information." The young officer held his gloves in his hands, twisting them. Charles smiled warmly and waved for the man to sit.

"No bother at all, Inspector. What can I be of help with?" he asked and nodded to Scott who hurried off to call for tea. Abberline sat stiffly and leaned on his knees.

"I'm sure you've read t'papers this mornin', sir. There is somefin' not normal bout this murder an' I was told...that...well.." he trailed off, trying to find the right words. 

Charles reached out with his gift, ignoring the lull of the drug that still clung to the man's psyche. He delved in and discovered that the policeman had a low level gift of his own. 

"Yes...Inspector, I know what you are trying to say. I can tell that you are not unfamiliar with what I am known for." he replied and watched the young man go even paler. "I am sure you can feel what I and my ward have been suffering with this horror. You try to stifle it but it comes through anyway, does it not?" he asked and leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair. Resting his chin on his fist, he studied the inspector with calm gray eyes. 

Abberline looked stunned and gaped his mouth for a few moments. Collecting himself, he gave a dry chuckle and sighed. 

"M'sergeant told me I'd be in good comp'ny." he said and tried to shake off the shivers that racked his body. "'Ave you gotten anyfin' from...what 'as 'appened?" he asked and looked embarrassed by the question. Charles took a breath and frowned.

"The only clear things I have gotten, other than a blinding headache, are that he isn't finished and there is something shielding him from discovery." he said. Abberline looked pained again and nodded his head.

"I get pictures of what 'e does to 'em. It's ghastly." He rubbed his face and then looked around as the maid came in with a tray.

"Ah, Miriam, thank you, my dear." Charles said as she laid them their tea and scones. "Please, have some, Inspector. I am sure you have been on the job all night. No time to break your fast while hunting murderers." The policeman smiled and thanked the nobleman. 

"Tell me when you began to get these kinds of visions." Charles said, making the man pause in his sip. Abberline shook his head and smiled again. After taking his sip, he told Xavier all he could remember about his 'gift'.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was strange on the streets tonight, the people were disturbed by the horrific murder and wondering who could have done such a thing. 

Remy LeBeau sauntered through the Whitechaple district with a warm buzz and pockets full of gambling winnings. He smiled at the working girls who cooed and called to him. Their Cockney accents sounding musical to his ears. He swept into the next pub, a place called The Ten Bells, and took a seat at the rail.

Slapping the bar, he called for whiskey and laid his coin on the wood. His bronze plated boots rang against the boot rail and he caught the attention of most of the patrons. 

His long leather coat swung behind him as he sat on the stool. The dark glassed spectacles caused speculation and murmurs. 

Two buxom lasses stepped to his side without a thought, leaning in and jabbering to him. He was a beautiful man with expensive clothing and foolish bravado. 

They expected, either way, it was win-win for them. If they rolled him for his purse, they were sure to get a heavy one. If he took them for a tumble, then he was sure to pay well. And who wouldn't want a tumble with such a fine figure of a man?

"Easy now, Cheries, There is enough of Remy to go around." he said, his French accent making them titter with giggles.

He downed the drink when the barkeep set it before him. "Another, Garçon." he said and laid out more coin. "And for the mademoiselles as well." The smile was wide and engaging. 

The women cheered and downed their drinks. Remy felt a warm prickling on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him with a heavy gaze. 

Wrapping his arms around the women's waists, he herded them to a booth and set his back to the wall. He flirted and teased, buying them drinks and studying the crowed subtly. After about ten minutes, he found the source.

On the other side of the room, in a corner by the window, sat a man alone, in shadow. He seemed to be staring at the young man and the two tarts. 

Feeling irritation at this unwanted attention, Remy excused himself. Telling the women we would be back, he headed outside, pretending he needed a piss. 

Instead, he slipped round the corner and flattened against the wall. He could hear the shuffling and loud chatter of the people walking the street. Further down the alley, a whore was servicing her john. Remy ignored it all. Listening for the step of heavy steel toed boots, like those he had seen under the table in the pub.

And there is was, a soft chinking sound on the cobble stones. He held his breath and pushed his glasses up on his head. His night vision turning the darkness into twilight. 

There was a strange moment of silence and then, Remy felt a hand like iron clamp around his throat. 

The arm having come around the corner before it's owner, took him by surprise. The young man struggled and fought as he was pinned to the brick wall. Angry blue eyes pierced into him and a deep growl rumbled up.

"What are you doing in London, Thief?" the man demanded and shook the slender frame a little. Remy went from fighting for his life to relief to wanting to bolt, in a matter of seconds.

"L-Logn...M-Mon Amie...What are you doing in London?" he asked, choking on the still firm hold on his throat. He tried to push a little charm but it was hard when his words were not smooth and seductive. Logan shook his head and let go of the long neck.

"I asked you fist." he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

His reenforced boots came to the knee and had armored plates. His leather long coat was weather beaten and scuffed. He glared at the thief with a steely look and then scratched at his mutton chops. Remy smoothed his coat and shirt before rubbing his aching throat.

"Just on Holiday. How about you?" He smiled and leaned against the wall casually. Logan snorted and shook his head.

"Here visiting friends. Then the Yard asked for my advice and assistance, on account of the murder." his voice dipped at the dark word. Remy's brow arched and he seemed to hold back a smirk.

"Yes, terrible thing, I read about it this morning. So, why did you feel the need to choke Remy as a greeting?" he asked, pulled a cigarillo from his pocket and lit it. Logan grunted and rolled his eyes then stole one for himself. He drew hard before blowing out a long breath.

"You are forgetting the last time we saw each other." he stated and turned his head toward the sounds of the whore and her client finishing their business. Making a disgusted face, he looked back at Remy.

"Still haunting the same quality areas, I see." he replied and grabbed the young man by the elbow. "Walk with me, LeBeau." he said and pulled the man along. Remy gave a squawk of indignation but stumbled after him.

"You can't still be sore about that, Logan. Really, it was all in good fun." the thief protested and tried to squirm out of his hold. Logan ignored his prattle and dragged the young man up the street. The pair getting lewd calls and comments from the people they passed.

"Yes, I am sure, being left naked in a bayou shack, in the middle of the stinking swamp, is nothing to a bog frog like you. But to me, it was damned infuriating." He growled and ushered Remy faster.

"Aww, Cher. You can't be thinking so badly of Remy. It wasn't his fault, honestly." the thief said as he was led into a modest hotel. Paying the blinking reception keep no mind, Logan pushed Remy up the stairs and down the long dark hall. Remy felt his skin flush with adrenaline and he took a deep breath. 

"Where you taking Remy?" he asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. Logan keyed open a door and hauled the man in. 

Slamming it behind him, he locked the door and turned to stare at the young man. Remy's long copper hair had been mussed in the choking and fast march. Several fine tendrils slipped free of the tie, to cling to his neck and jaw. Full pouting lips gasped short breaths as he watched the stocky man with trepidation. 

Logan shook his head and shucked his coat. The tea dyed shirt was linen and stretched over his muscled chest pleasantly. He walked slowly toward Remy, his fingers clasping and unclasping.

"You welched on a bet, Swamp Rat. You owe me." he said and lunged to catch the slim body as it moved to break for the door. Arms like tree trunks wrapped around the slender waist and held him fast.

"Non, Remy didn't welch. Told you, wasn't his fault. M. Creed and M. Essex detained Remy against his will." he said frantically while he was pushed backwards into the wall. His back flush with the surface and Logan's muscled body pressed tight to his. 

"Likely excuse." Logan said and lowered his mouth on the sensual lips. The kiss was hard and deep, tongue delving with violence. Remy struggled for a beat before the man's lust overpowered him. Moaning wantonly, he returned the kiss, long arms wrapping around Logan's neck.


	2. Chapter 2

The intensity was thick and Logan was determined to get his winnings. Pressing his knee between the long thighs he bit sharply at the full bottom lip, drawing blood. Remy gasped and shivered in the big man's arms. Breaking for air Logan's deep blue eyes pinned the young man in place.

"You know I won fair and square. You don't want me to spread it round that Remy LeBeau is a welsher now do ya?" His gruff voice was low and deep. Remy's pupils were blown wide, the red of his irises crowding the black. 

"Desole, Logan. Wasn't welshing. Creed ambushed me, took me to Essex. Took two months to get away." he spoke softly. His long fingers slipping into the man's thick black hair and holding on. Logan's eyes darkened and his hand closed tighter around the thief's waist.

"He hurt you again?" he asked, his tension readable in his taut shoulders. Remy sighed and shrugged one shoulder.

"No more than usual. I am just sorry he kept me from getting back to you." he replied and leaned in for another kiss. Logan growled into the warm mouth. 

They weren't a couple, no matter how scandalous that would be. They were friends of a sort. The sort who keep one eye on the door and the other on their 'friend'.

When he had beat the Cajun at billiards he had been stunned. He was elated to collect his prize. A full 24 hours alone with the young libertine to do with him what he wished, as long as it wasn't permanent. 

He had been furious when the thief had never returned from his trip to town for supplies, leaving Logan alone in the houseboat in the swamp, hard and waiting. He had been so angry when he finally got back to town that he didn't look further than LeBeau's tavern of choice. Not finding the young rake, the angry Canadian had left town.

Now he wished he'd had more focus. Remy had been in trouble and Logan hadn't looked for him. He felt a welter of guilt and hurt at that. It unnerved him. Feeling a surge of irritation at his unwanted 'feelings', he kissed Remy again and then dragged him to the bed.

"We may not have the full 24 hours but I'll settle for the night." he said and began to pushing the long trench coat off the elegant shoulders. Remy chuckled and cocked one ginger brow

"This isn't going to be an easy ride is it?" he asked when Logan began working the mother of pearl buttons on his shirt. He wasn't afraid to have sex with the mostly feral Canadian man. He was more concerned for how his body would like it too much. 

He knew that Logan wasn't for keeping. Even if they could find a place in the world that wouldn't condemn them for their so called unnatural desires. No, the young thief was fooling himself if he thought the man could feel for him.

Shoving the confusing thoughts aside, he surrendered to the feral and hoped he wouldn't be too sore, he had things to do the next day.

Logan got the younger man out of his clothing very quickly and pushed him roughly down on the bed. His eyes raked over the pale skin bared to him. He grunted and removed his own garb.

"Lay back and spread those legs for me." he commanded and delighted in the indignation that flashed in the red and black depths.

Remy swallowed the snark that wanted to bubble out, he had promised the man he'd get anything he wanted and the Cajun was going to live up to his word.

Logan was nude in a few moments. He crawled on the bed looming over the long young man. His lips grazed the alabaster skin reaching the collarbones. A necklace lay against the throat, an odd amulet the thief always wore. Logan fingered it for a moment.

"You made me wait six months to collect, I plan on getting as much as I can." he said in a low rumbling tone. Remy's breath caught and he looked deep into Logan's eyes.

His empathy branched out and picked up the heat and desire the feral man was broadcasting. He knew there was danger in giving in too much but he couldn't back out. Keeping silent, fearing he'd say too much, Remy arched up against the big man and let his head fall back in submission.

Logan growled and lowered his head to bite at the white throat bared to his fangs. His teeth broke the skin, filling his mouth with the spicy taste of the thief's blood. His mind swam and he felt the beast within lurch for control.

His hands caught the Cajun's wrists and pinned them above his head. Thick muscled thigh pressed between Remy's legs. The pressure on his hard cock made the pretty man groan. Mapping over the quivering flesh, Logan tasted and nipped.

Remy was slipping into the whirlpool of Logan's lust. He knew he'd regret this later but couldn't be bothered to care.

Heat built and Logan licked at the scars on Remy's ribcage. The thief gasped and clutched at the feral's head.

Grinning, Logan pressed his palms against the long inner thighs, spreading them open wider. He salivated at the sight of the elegant thick cock. Lapping at the head, he caused the young man to cry out in surprise.

Liking the sound intensely, he lowered his head to swallow the member whole. Remy jolted like he was struck by lightning. His head snapped back on the pillows and his fingers fisted in the dark hair. 

Not giving the thief a chance to get used to the feeling, Logan bobbed his head, sucking in his cheeks. Remy shouted loudly, prompting Logan to reach one hand up to cover the slack mouth. He sucked the hard cock for several long moments before pulling off. He ignored the Cajun's curses and flipped Remy over on his belly. 

Yanking the long body up on hands and knees, Logan turned his attention to the rounded ass. His thick fingers parted the cleft cheeks and exposed the quivering bud to his sight. 

Remy grasped the pillow in his hands, trying to keep quiet. Logan's hand on his mouth had muffled his uncontrollable moaning. He tried to remember they were in a hotel, people were trying to sleep and wouldn't taking kindly to two men fucking, loudly.

When the feral's tongue began to lave his pucker, Remy shoved a fist in his mouth and swallowed the cries. He was alight with the sensations and electricity zinging through his body.

Logan worked quickly, probing and wetting the tightness. Remy's squirming and muted cries made the blood pump hard in his cock. Pulling back, he sucked two fingers and wet them thoroughly. Pressing into the tiny bud, he smirked at the strangled sounds the young man made.

He quickly stretched the muscles and then pushed up on his knees. Spitting into his palm, he coated his cock and then lined it up with the thief's entrance. 

"Hang on." he chuckled darkly and snapped his hips forward. His length penetrated the thief with one stroke. Remy scrunched his eyes closed and smothered his scream in the pillow.

Logan had to be one of the largest men he'd ever been taken by. His vision was awash in red. He could feel his pulse throbbing around the cock deep inside him.

Logan didn't give him time to get used to it. He had been thinking too much about taking the Cajun like this. He began a hard pace of thrusting hips. His heated cock plundering the tight channel without mercy. He used just enough force to jar the long body with each inward plunge.

Remy choked back his cries, trying to get a grip as he was fucked deeply by the big man. The wet slap of skin on skin made Logan growl and grip his fingers deeper into the narrow hips. The Cajun was even better than the feral had imagined. Tight and wiggling and so responsive. 

He wanted to cum and then keep fucking the young man. He knew he could do it, but he didn't think the thief could take hours of hard fucking. He wasn't a healer like Logan. 

Grunting in irritation at the limitation, Logan focused on the task at hand. Bending over the long back, he licked at the nape and brought one hand down to fist the young man's cock.

"Want you to cum for me, Cajun." he said. Stroking his fist in a pace to match his hips, Logan brought Remy to the very edge of climax.

The thief bit his lips bloody trying to keep quiet. When Logan's thumb grazed over the slit of his cock, the Cajun saw stars and his body went rigid. The member in the feral's hand pulsed and then spilled over. 

The squeeze of the thief's muscles made Logan groan. He leaned back licking the seed from his hand and fucked hard and fast.

In just a few more strokes, he sized up and swallowed his own shout of climax as he filled the thief's sheath with his essence.

Exhausted and spent, they fell to the mattress and lay panting. It was several long minutes later, when they both began to stir. Logan pulled his still hard length from Remy and smirked at the young man's questioning look. 

"I'll give you a chance to catch your breath." he said smiling, but completely serious. Remy cursed and let his head fall back to the bedding. 

He was going to be so sore come morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The Dark One sat in the simple room and looked at the silver blade. 

It was still crusted with the dried blood of his victim. 

It had been almost perfect. The thrill, the lust and satisfaction of taking a life. It had all answered the craving, but not completely. 

There was still a visceral need. To see the organs, glistening with blood in the moonlight. He shuddered and brought the blade down. 

He would have to wait a bit before he could hunt again. He had nearly been caught. That would never do.

Taking out a cloth, he began to clean the knife with labored attention. 

"So much to do and so little time." he said and chuckled.


End file.
